


A Call to Follow

by Nanimok



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: A small Vikings AU with Blacksmith!Tim and Viking!Jason.





	A Call to Follow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SmutFika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutFika/gifts), [TaneKore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaneKore/gifts).



> For viking loving mum, [smutfika,](smutfika.tumblr.com) lovely viking chief[ jaykore](jaykore.tumblr.com/tagged/viking-au), and all other viking enthusiasts. This fic wouldn’t be half of what it was without warrior queen (word) [chibinightowl](http://chibinightowl.tumblr.com) so please shower her with love!

There is magic in the forge, in the sparks and the momentum that soars when his hammer strikes a blow, and the metal sings to him in a way that Tim has never been able to describe.

His vision for this masterful weapon consumes him, overwhelming his thoughts from the very moment it first appeared in his dreams. A sword perfectly matched for the man he intends to gift it to; a companion befitting a warrior.

Months of sequestering goods and trading with merchants provides Tim with the fine steel he needs. The tales the merchants tell of the far side of the ocean feed into his vision. He sequesters himself in the smithy, spending hours before the forge and the anvil. Sweat slicks down his back and soot layers thick on his face, his pale skin turns ruddy by the fires he works with. The callouses on his hands and the corded muscle creases his shoulders and arms are that of a blacksmith. The design that forms is his own.

Tim doesn’t regret a single moment, not now when he’s achieved the pinnacle of his craft.

His time in the monastery had been short, but he remembered the old tales of the Druids before them, of how they refused to cage a piece of their souls by inscribing their teachings onto paper. He does not understand the latter, because the practicality of written record is too valuable to ignore, but he understands the former. As Tim runs his finger down the fuller of his sword, he thinks, surely, a fragment of his soul burns in its core.

A rustle behind him, and Tim sheaths the blade in its scabbard. He wraps it in a bundle of fur as a gust of cold wind greets him first, and a large man ducks his head under the door frame, his massive shoulders barely able to fit.

“Jason,” Tim says in greeting, setting down his precious bundle. “What brings you about?”

“You left the longhouse.”

With nothing to hold in his hands, Tim flounders slightly. “I came here to tidy up my accounts,” he settles on. “I forgot to do it before the feast began, but I seem to have misplaced my papers.”

Jason walks to his table, filling up the bleak, vacant spaces in the smithy that Tim was unaware had existed, and he unhooks his scabbard from his belt to rest it on the table, on top of the papers strewn on it. His scabbard, Tim knows by heart, is that of low grade leather, shielding a pattern-welded blade. Tim resists throwing the offending metalwork into the furnace.  

Taking stock of the room, Jason hums. “Happens quite often, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim asks, ripping himself from his glare.

“Forgetting things?”

“More than you think,” Tim says, recalling on all the times he’s fallen back on such excuse.

There is no hiding he’s been working hard, spending long hours tucked away rather than spending time with the people he’s come to know as his own—especially the warrior before him.

Jason slowly prowls around the anvil, circling closer to the sword. Tim shuffles in front of the bundle of furs, blocking his view.

“Seems like I’ve well and truly forgotten where I placed it,” Tim says. “Shall we head back to the feast?”

“In a moment.” Jason doesn’t stop his slow pace, eyes taking in everything. “You’ve spent quite a lot time at the forge.”

“As expected for a blacksmith,” Tim replies.

“You’re room is quite bare,” Jason says. “Yet, from all the stories I’ve been hearing, you should have earned enough to impress even a King.”

He would, Tim thinks, but gold _is_ quite dear.  

“Roy, Kory and I were discussing it,” Jason remarks out of the blue, lips quirking up in amusement as Tim startles. “Aside from training, the forge, and the markets, you’re scarcely seen. We were wondering if there is a war for which you’re preparing for and have forgotten to tell us.”

Folding his arms, Tim shakes his head. “Nope. No, war. Not that I can recall.”

“I should hope so. The threat of war shouldn’t be something so trifling as to be easily forgotten.”

Jason stops in front of him, a full head taller and gazes down at him. Tim looks up in question. The warrior seems to be regarding him, shoulders hunched in thought. Chiselled and sharp—purposeful—hesitancy is not something Tim’s used to seeing on Jason’s face.

“You are aware,” Jason begins carefully, “that the days where you were nothing but a novice monk beholden to us for his very existence are long past.”

Tim nods. “And I’m grateful for the freedom given.”

“Everyone of us consider you ours—our brethren,” Jason corrects himself. “As such—”

He pauses, slanting his lips, before reaching out and unfolding Tim’s hands from his forearms. His thumb brushes against Tim’s thick, broken skin. The touch causes his heart to stutter, and Tim’s eyebrow shoots to the roof. Jason bows his head, giving him a stern look.

“As such,” he continues, “if there is something bothering you, then you share it. A burden is better conquered when spread amongst others. You must know that I will—somebody will accompany you wherever you need to go? There is no need to lurk and be secretive about it.”

Tim’s mind races. The thought of leaving has never once occurred to him, not alone, not unless it is at Jason’s side. “Wherever I need to go?”

“Where you’re…” Jason gestures around the room. “Hiding all your weapons and supplies for?”

His supplies for? What weapons and supplies is Jason talking—

 _Oh_.

“You thought I was preparing to leave?” Tim asks, flabbergasted.

“You’re not?”

“No!” Tim replies vehemently. “No. My place is here beside you.”

Jason breathes in slowly and searches up and down Tim’s face, tension easing from his shoulders. “So these past few months?” he urges. “You’ve been forging from dawn to dusk for leisure?”

“No, I was…” Tim swallows. “I _was_ forging. My life’s work, you could even say. But it is not for me. And tonight—the timing wasn’t right—”

He has always been better with his hands than he is with words, so Tim turns and unfolds the bundle of fur on his table, and with two hands, offers the sheathed sword to Jason.

Jason seems to be frozen in place. “Oh,” he says quietly.

He raises one shaky, almost reverent, hand up and traces the leatherwork. Then, he fingers the gold woven into the cross guard, the tang, and the pommel, before taking the sword from Tim’s hands and unsheathing it in one go—

The blade shimmers under the glow of the fire crackling in the hearth. Jason turns the blade from one side to another, lost for words, admiring the sharp edges and the runes inscribed on the fuller.

“For protection,” Jason says, recognizing the marks. “Oh, Tim.”

“When the Black Mask raided the monastery, I thought my life would end there,” Tim begins, never removing his eyes from the man before him. “If spared from meeting my maker, then I thought I would spend the rest of my life serving at the foot of a monster, never truly knowing the joy of the forge, or the pleasure of serving under a mighty but honourable warrior.”

Jason is grace, destruction, and _fire,_ singing to him in a way Tim thought only metal could. He deserves more than an axe, more than a pattern-wielded blade, and more than crucible steel. Jason deserves gold enamoured hilts and the perfect amount of iron mixed with carbon.

He deserves a blade he can call his equal.

“Your clan rescued me and offered a chance for freedom, a home, and so much more than I could ever have hoped for.”

Jason sheaths his sword and places it gently on the table beside his older blade. His shoulders shudders, and a moment later he turns and strides forward, closing the distance between them.

Tim blinks at him, because Jason seems almost _angry_ —

“So you’re not leaving?” he demands.

“No,” Tim says. “As I said—”

Jason slips his hands around Tim’s face and drags him into a kiss.

It’s like being dragged under a tidal wave amidst a storm with lighting splitting around them. He completely forgets his own name under the onslaught of desire coursing through his veins.

Jason breaks the kiss and laughs, his lips close enough to Tim’s that he could feel his breath tickling him. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing his nose. “You make me worry myself half to death over the thought of you being unhappy here—at the thought of you _leaving_ —and you give me a _sword.”_

“Ah,” Tim says, chuckling a little. “Sorry about that.”

“A _sword,_ Tim. Permission to continue?”

Tim nods, furiously, and grabs Jason’s forearms with his work hardened hands, in case he had any funny ideas about letting go. “My place is here,” he replies. “Beside you.”

Over the years, Tim has seen Jason’s smile tinged with all kinds of emotions; the excitement of hunting, the ferocity of his anger, and the threat of his bloodlust. He’s never seen it quite this tender.

“Swear it,” Jason says.

Tim has sworn many false oaths in his time—to his parents and the monastery—but the truth rings as clear as the call to a forge.

“I swear it,” Tim says. He grasps at one of Jason’s thumb and kisses it in fealty.

Jason’s eyes crinkle and he smiles as if he’s containing explosives that would otherwise burst. “Good,” he says, knocking their foreheads together. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Weapons made with crucible steel comes later in the Viking era but I wanted Tim to be ahead of the game in terms of weapon forging. 
> 
> Many thanks to the pages below for my newly gained Viking knowledge:  
> [ Hurstwic](http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/manufacturing/text/viking_sword.htm)  
> [Norse-Mythology for Smart People](https://norse-mythology.org/viking-weapons-and-armor-swords-axes-spears-etc/)  
> [History on the Net ](https://www.historyonthenet.com/viking-weapons-and-armor/)
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I'm so, so bad at replying but thank you so much for leaving feedback!! It is very much appreciated :D
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr.](http://fatcatsarecats.tumblr.com/)


End file.
